


This Time of Night

by bumcheeks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Heartbreak, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Romance, Sad, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumcheeks/pseuds/bumcheeks
Summary: A series of failed relationships, heartbreaks, and the passage of time have brought everyone back together for Tanaka and Kiyoko's wedding. Some faces hide their hurt while others try to outrun it. But the past has a way of coming back for everyone and sooner or later they'll all have to face it
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Ennoshita Chikara/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 55





	1. Part 1 - Kuroo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story will be composed of 3 major parts (I'm splitting up the pairs into parts to allow more time to focus on a few at a time). Chapters will be updated every Friday. Thanks so much for reading :)

He had only been back in town for a few weeks. Before that, there had been an ongoing internal debate as to whether he should even come back, but the job opportunity was too good to pass up. The man was staying in his childhood home for the time being – just until he could find a place of his own. Since he’d come home, Kuroo spent every night sitting out front, long after his parents had gone to bed, looking over at Kenma’s childhood home – the place his friend’s parents still lived. Kuroo thought about the days when they were younger, when they had keys to each other’s houses, and they would walk in and out at all hours. Their parents never asked questions because they knew, even back then, what the boys felt for each other. It sounded cliché, but he really had loved Kenma as long as he’d known him. When they were young, he loved him as a friend – he wanted to protect him and be followed around by the younger boy. But as they grew up that love became something else. “I’m sorry,” he’d said against the night air on more than one occasion. Kuroo wasn’t sure who he’d been apologizing to – it somehow felt like it was meant for his younger self. He would have told himself to steer clear and protect his heart. But he couldn’t go back.  
As he walked into the reception hall, Kuroo wondered if he looked at all nervous. He was really trying his best to hold his head high – to walk with some air of confidence, but his heartbeat was hammering so loud that his ears were ringing. Even though he’d been away for so long, he’d hoped that he could walk into the room and feel like he belonged amongst the people that had shaped his high school career. But the room felt too big and he felt so small. Everything seemed far away and vacant because the past was so out of reach. Not only that – it was hard to walk into any room filled with people and not immediately look for Kenma. He hadn’t even made an effort to reach out to Kuroo since he’d been back in town; that said a lot. It seemed like even their friendship was on its deathbed. The dark-haired man tried to use his hands to distract himself as he walked: straightening his tie and fiddling in his pockets, but it was no good; the time to face reality had come. Kenma was not at his side; Kuroo was alone.  
How many years had it been now since he’d first realized that he was in love with his best friend? How many years had Kuroo been friends with Kenma? And how many more years would he be able to go on pretending that he was fine with the way everything turned out? Could things ever turn around?  
Over and over again one memory spun around in his thoughts: the night before he got on the train to leave for school. They sat outside of their childhood homes, he and his friend. Kuroo had told Kenma he loved him, and the other boy had offered a rare smile. I love you too, Kuroo, he’d said. Under the silent stars Kuroo had kissed Kenma. Maybe it had been selfish to ask the other boy to wait, but Kuroo had assumed it was what they both wanted. He never thought he’d end up hurting so much. After all, he couldn’t have anticipated the call that Kenma was moving on. There had been no warning at all from the boy Kuroo had given his heart. And he never bothered to say anything on his own – Kuroo had heard the truth from Akaashi. The hurt suddenly felt fresh.  
That was the thought on his mind. He put the memory inside the fist in his pocket as he walked toward the table where Hinata was sitting. When the taller man pulled his hand from his pocket, he left his bitterness there, holding his hand out for the other man. He swallowed his dread and steadied his shaking fingers, mirroring the happiness in the other man’s eyes. “Hey, short stuff!” he said enthusiastically. His chest hurt.  
“Kuroo!” Hinata jumped from his chair and hugged the man excitedly. He didn’t even realize what he’d done. He’d never know what he’d taken away from Kuroo. Jealousy and anger were still dripping off his shoulders when he took his seat. Admittedly, he was trying so hard to let it go – to let all the pain slide off; but it had been sitting with him for so many years, he couldn’t get rid of it all at once. “Is Kenma here?” he asked. If his question registered as excitement that was better than Hinata knowing the truth.  
“Yeah, I told him he could play videogames in the hall for a while. Good thing I remembered to bring extra batteries, or he never would’ve forgiven me.” He smiled. That was supposed to be Kuroo’s job. He was the only one who should have known to bring the batteries. He had guarded how to care for Kenma like a secret since they were kids. When did Kuroo stop mattering? When had he become so easy to replace? Again, he asked himself: how many years do I have left to pretend? He was so tired. And when he stopped pretending, what then? Would it overflow? Their friendship never had to change, so why had it? If Kenma didn’t feel the same, he should never have kissed Kuroo back or told him he loved him – he should never have given the older man any hope. Things hadn’t gone wrong when Kuroo had confessed, or even when Kenma reciprocated. They changed when Kenma didn’t have the gall to admit to his best friend that he had moved on, jumped into a relationship with Hinata; the one person that Kuroo had always been worried about. The one person Kenma always swore he had no feelings for outside of friendship.  
“So, you guys are still…?” He knew they were still together when he asked the question – why had he bothered? All he was doing was tormenting himself.  
“We moved in together a few months ago.” Hinata’s smile was so wide it was hard to know whether he was being genuine. Kuroo hoped he wasn’t – that he was faking it. No, he just really wanted it to be fake. The taller man forced himself to return his friend’s elation. There were so many questions he wanted answers to: is he eating okay? Is he sleeping through the night? Did he mean it when he kissed me back? Can we go back to normal? Is he really happy with you? But none of those questions were for Hinata. “Honestly, I should probably go check on him,” Hinata said, rising to his feet.  
Kuroo immediately stood and urged the other man to sit back down. “No, no. You stay. I’ll go – gives me a chance to catch up with him.” He was grateful that Hinata didn’t try to stop him; he had only smiled with gratitude. It meant he trusted Kuroo. He wasn’t sure which was worse: sitting next to the person who had Kenma’s heart, or the thought of sitting next to the person who had broken his. Reality didn’t take away from the fact that he still really, really wanted to see his friend. After all, it might be the last chance he got – Kenma was unlikely to make any effort to reach out and it was time Kuroo stopped pressing.  
It wasn’t hard to find the small man once in the hall; he was curled up in a corner, tapping away at the buttons on his handheld game. Kuroo wanted to see the boy he’d grown up with, but he didn’t recognize this man wearing dress pants and a nice button-down shirt. His tie was lopsided, and his darkened hair was messily tied half up – only the ends were still light. It was obvious that he didn’t see or hear Kuroo approach. The latter wanted to wait and just watch a little longer, revel in the moment. He wanted to be a kid again, outside of their houses under the night sky, confessing his true love and feeling the sparks as their lips met. If he had known things would have turned out like this, he never would have gone away. He would have clung to Kenma with everything in him. Would he still have left to be with Hinata? Could he ever have been happy with Kuroo?  
The latter sat down on the floor. He was quiet, his legs stretched out in front of him. Kenma looked up on a whim and the sudden realization dawned on him. “Kuroo,” he said, showing a timid smile as he tucked loose hair behind his ear. He paused his game and set it aside – a true honor in Kuroo’s eyes. For a minute it felt like maybe they could start over. But then he remembered who was waiting for Kenma inside the reception hall.  
It was immediately obvious to the older man that Kenma was in sensory overload. Hinata never should have left him alone. Kuroo made no attempt to hug or touch the small man. For that, he was grateful; being that close to him would have been more pain than he could take. “Do you want to come inside before Tanaka and Kiyoko get here?” he asked. Kenma shook his head, eyes cast toward the floor. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Kuroo already knew the answer before he registered Kenma shaking his head again. “Okay, kitty,” he grinned, trying to bare the hurt writhing in his chest.  
Kuroo glanced up in time to see Akaashi walking toward the double doors of the reception hall. Their eyes locked and the latter waved lazily as he passed through the doors. He looked exhausted. Kuroo would have to check on him later.  
He looked back to the smaller man next to him. Was it selfish that he felt like Kenma owed him more than his name? It was all he’d offered when the older man sat down. After all this time, didn’t he deserve more? Why are you so sad? He asked himself. He doesn’t want you; you shouldn’t be sad – so why are you sad? You should be angry. Again, Kuroo thought about how he’d been home for weeks and Kenma hadn’t made the effort to see him. “How’s your mom?” Kuroo forced himself to ask. “And your dad.”  
“Good,” Kenma said. Why couldn’t he muster more than good? Was this seriously all he had to say? The realization that their friendship was broken was devastating. It felt like there was nothing left between them but space and hurt.  
“My parents were asking about you,” Kuroo said. He was so desperate to fill the space between them with memories, covering the sadness. I didn’t know what to tell them, Kuroo reminded himself. I wanted to tell them I hated you because I want to hate you. I don’t want to be this close to you right now, yet I want to be closer. Don’t you remember that you told me you loved me? Did you lie so I’d go away? “They wanted to know if you were okay.”  
“Oh yeah?” Kenma asked. He seemed distracted and he wasn’t looking at Kuroo’s eyes. Kuroo realized the smaller man hadn’t looked at his eyes since he’d sat down. Considering that was usually how he read people, what didn’t he want to see? Did he know the person he used to call home was desperately sad?  
“I told them you were happy.” It was the first time since he’d sat down that Kuroo offered a smile. Was it genuine? “Are you okay? Do you want to go to the table?” Did it pain Kenma to be around him the way it pained Kuroo?  
“Okay,” Kenma agreed. He picked up his game and walked in ahead of Kuroo who held the door for him as they went. Hinata was smiling from the table, waving. I told them you were happy. The words replayed in Kuroo’s mind. He watched Kenma sit down at the table next to his boyfriend who leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Kuroo looked down. Could he be happy again? Could he forget how much he loved Kenma in the face of watching him love someone else?


	2. Part 1 - Akaashi

He was sitting in his car, just tapping fingers against the steering wheel. You can leave, Keiji, he told himself. You can turn around and go back home. You don’t have to do this. But that wasn’t exactly true. At the end of the day things weren’t really that simple. He couldn’t just turn around; he had to go inside. There was no excuse in the world that would be passable. People would begin to suspect something and eventually they would arrive at the conclusion that Akaashi was just a child still stuck in high school. They would talk about how much time had gone by and how he was the only person who hung on so tightly to the past. He would become the most readable person in any room, something he’d always fought to avoid. It had been two years since he’d seen Bokuto and even longer since he’d been hurt by him. He leaned his head back against the seat, hands still on the wheel. It was calming to tell himself that he could leave, even if it was just another lie. He lied to himself daily, told himself he was okay and would eventually move on. This shouldn’t be any different. It was just a wedding – just one night.  
In a quick, impulsive moment Akaashi grabbed the present in his front seat and walked toward the reception hall. He was straightening his glasses as he shuffled, as if it were a nervous tic he’d developed in the short walk to the front doors. His heart was hammering. There’s no guarantee he’ll be here. He stopped with his hand on the door. Did he want Bokuto to be here?  
Once he entered the reception hall, he found himself searching, although he hadn’t determined whether he even wanted to find what he was looking for. In the end though, it was somewhat of a relief that Bokuto didn’t seem to be around. Akaashi sat down in his assigned seat and sighed, hand on his palpitating chest. Relax, he told himself. He isn’t here. Just relax. He fiddled with his phone to keep his hands busy, reading through several emails from his boss. Nothing critical, just reminders for the week ahead. Although, it would have been a nice out if something had suddenly come up. The truth was, while he did have several projects, all but one of them were ongoing and nothing could be resolved for the time being. He had interviews scheduled for the week ahead.   
“Hey, hey, hey!” The thumb on his phone stopped. Suddenly his entire body felt frozen in place. He’d thought he was safe, thought he’d be ready to run if he needed to, but Akaashi was stuck in his seat. And he couldn’t even muster the energy to look up and face reality. You’re so pathetic. He didn’t want to see his face, but his curiosity peaked.  
Akaashi had explicitly asked not to be sat at a table with Bokuto. He knew it sounded petty when he made the request, but he just couldn’t bear to face him. Tanaka had respected his request and hadn’t asked questions, which left Akaashi feeling especially grateful. But their tables were still adjacent. Bokuto was right there, leaning in to hug Kuroo and slapping Tsukishima on the back. And he was smiling wide as the sky. He looked so incredibly happy, and as beautiful as ever. Akaashi nearly waved like things were the same as they’d always been – like he’d never loved his best friend or pined over him and known, always known that he wasn’t good enough. Bokuto was a star. He was the best high school volleyball coach in Japan, maybe all of Eastern Asia.   
As a journalist, Akaashi could easily run an exposé on him, talk about how wonderful he was; stroke his ego like the old days, but the thought hurt. To think he used to fantasize about doing just that: interviewing Bokuto just to be face to face with him again. It was a selfish, fleeting desire that burned like misery inside the younger man.  
There was a time leading up to the wedding that Akaashi imagined himself confronting Bokuto. He would spend hours rehearsing what he would say in his mind, dreamed about telling him the truth about how he had felt back then and how he still felt. But facing Bokuto now, seeing him in person, changed things. If he was happy, what would reminders of the past do for him? And what about the conversation they’d had back then: Bokuto telling Akaashi that he was offered a sports scholarship at a school miles away. It was a great opportunity – that was what he kept saying. And before he could tell Akaashi that he planned to go and leave him behind, the man spoke for the both of them. He insisted that Bokuto go, that he would be fine on his own. He remembered exactly what he’d said to his old friend: our only connection is volleyball. We’re not even friends, only teammates. I could never expect you to stay here forever. If Bokuto had been planning to leave, which he obviously had, Akaashi had no choice but to guard his heart. Why had he ever thought he’d meant something more to the other man?  
There was going to come a moment when Bokuto would look back and he would see Akaashi. And the latter’s biggest fear was that his old friend would ignore him, act cold. His heart couldn’t take it. Coming to the wedding reception had been a mistake. As he prepared to leave, he had to remind his legs to move; remind his hands to stop shaking. All he had to do was make it back through those double doors. He stood from the table and excused himself as his emotions swallowed him. Once he made it through the double doors he was running toward the bathroom where he sat in a stall and cried silently into his hands. He wanted Bokuto to be happy, hoped he had found someone who deserved him. And all the same he cried out of longing, as if he had any right. He imagined the happiness on the other man’s face from moments before and thought of how much that smile devastated him. That smile would never be meant for him again. He thought he was over his infatuation, but here he was – crying over Bokuto once more.  
Akaashi wiped his eyes on the heels of his palms and moved toward the sink to wash his hands, staring into the mirror. He looked so tired and worn. How long had he been unhappy? When had he given up on trying to be anything else?  
Another stall door opened and Akaashi’s tear-stained eyes immediately met with Kageyama. The younger man didn’t even look phased, just went back into the stall for a piece of tissue and handed it to Akaashi. “Thanks,” the latter said. Kageyama offered a sad smile and left Akaashi alone in the bathroom. If someone asked later on why he left the wedding so suddenly, he would just say he’d been feeling sick.  
He was devastated by the silence that surrounded him as he drove home in the dim light of the setting sun. The night was still young, but he had nowhere to go – nobody to see. Akaashi was feeling increasingly lost. When he was hired at his magazine, he thought he’d begin to feel more at home in his writing, more secure because of his abilities. The way Bokuto was a volleyball star, he was a strong writer – but the two weren’t the same. Bokuto thrived for different reasons than Akaashi could ever hope to reach. The older man would constantly be surrounded by adoring fans and strong rivals. The only wall Akaashi had to overcome was the one he’d built. It was a devastating and frightening idea to imagine that he was his own obstacle – the only one able to make the wall ever and ever taller. How could he hope to overcome when the standards set for him were his own?  
He imagined Bokuto happy and in love with someone else, someone that wasn’t him, and Akaashi knew that he should be happy and maybe even relieved. Finally! Bokuto found someone who deserves him and his boisterous, quirky ways. Akaashi didn’t deserve Bokuto’s love, but when he thought of someone else having it, it broke his heart into shambles. He had no reason to feel this way – no right at all. He’d left his friends’ wedding early, and for what? To mope and wallow all alone? He could have at least stayed and enjoyed the reception – been in Bokuto’s presence a little longer just to revel in his laugh, admire his grin, and hope. If the other man could never be his, couldn’t Akaashi at least daydream and fantasize in his presence? No, he knew better – it was too painful a thought. “Bokuto-san,” he said as he drove. As if speaking his name into the darkness, beneath the passing streetlights, would somehow manifest him into the passenger seat. “Bokuto-san,” he said again. There were still tears in his eyes, now streaming down his face. “I want to see you,” he said, as if he were talking directly to his old friend. “I want to tell you how wonderful you are. I want to kiss you, even if it’s just one time – to imagine that you could love me back…” His heart was shattered beyond repair. Akaashi had lost his true love.  
When he arrived home, the silence and darkness of his apartment were even more devastating than driving against the impending night. He went to his bedroom closet and began digging through a box at the back until he found what he was looking for: his high school volleyball jersey. Akaashi smelled it, trying to remember – begging his mind to never forget Bokuto’s scent, his smile, his laugh. “Bokuto-san,” he said again, putting the jersey back in the box. He didn’t want to ruin it with his grief and tears. “I love you so much,” he said into the quiet room.  
No matter how much time passed, no matter how much he tried to move on, the devastation of what he lost always seemed to follow him into the next interval of his life. He went to college, he thought of Bokuto; he went on a date, he thought of Bokuto; he secured his dream job at his first-choice magazine, he thought only of Bokuto. Would he be proud? Would he be happy to see Akaashi succeeding? Moving on? Anything? And if Akaashi had stayed at the reception, dared to speak to the older man, what would have happened? Would he finally have received the rejection he’d always anticipated? Would Bokuto say that he hated and resented Akaashi for pushing him away? Or would he be disinterested and more secure without the memory of his old friend?  
He lay in his bed, wrapped in thick covers, trying to imagine that the weight was Bokuto. Akaashi felt desperate and lonely, grief-stricken. He thought back to the night that the older man left for college and Akaashi said goodbye like it was nothing. Had he made it up, or had Bokuto really looked sad when he was leaving?  
Akaashi rolled over onto his side, tears stinging his eyes when his phone pinged with a text notification. He sat up and wiped at his eyes, pulling his phone off the nightstand. It was Kuroo. You left in a hurry.  
Akaashi immediately typed back: Sorry, I wasn’t feeling good.  
Kuroo: You sure? Did he see through his lie? Know the real reason he left so early?  
Akaashi: I’ve been staying up late for work. I think it caught up with me.  
Kuroo: I won’t push you. If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Akaashi knew that Kuroo had his own grief to deal with. He was back in town and saw Kenma for the first time since he’d told him he loved him. He hated knowing that he’d been the bearer of bad news, having to tell his friend that the love of his life found someone else. Akaashi didn’t think he had any right to complain to Kuroo about his own feelings and insecurities when the other man had so many feelings of his own.  
But he wondered if Kuroo lay awake at night like this, pondering what could have been if only he’d stayed. If Bokuto had stayed would things be different? If Kuroo had stayed would Kenma still have started dating Hinata? Or was it a matter of convenience? Were they in love? Could anyone ever love Kenma or Bokuto the way Kuroo and Akaashi loved them? And if so, could Kuroo and Akaashi equally learn to love again? Could they be happy? Akaashi dozed into a deep sleep as thoughts and desperate worry fluttered through his mind – no, he didn’t think they could…


	3. Part 1 - Kuroo

His key turned in the lock and Kuroo stepped through the doorway. It was late – later than he’d meant to stay out. Admittedly, he’d been biding his time with Kenma; he really didn’t know if he’d see the younger man again. “Tetsuro, is that you?” His dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his glasses tipped down over the edge of his nose.  
“Hi, pop,” Kuroo said as he loosened his tie and sat in the chair across from his dad. If he went straight to his room, there would be more questions.  
“How was the wedding?” the older man asked. He had a newspaper in his hands, but his eyes were on his son. “Did you get to see everyone?”   
“It was nice.” Kuroo was scratching nervously at the back of his neck. The spot quickly became tender as he continued to itch. “And yeah, everyone was there.”  
The older man looked serious, like he was waiting for some admittance to leave his son’s mouth. “Kenma?” he asked. Kuroo didn’t know why he flinched when his dad said the younger man’s name.  
“Yeah,” Kuroo said. There were so many words that he hoped would follow, but none of them would come, even though he beckoned. It was painful, dad. It really hurt to see him. I’m trying to be strong because I’m an adult now, but I just want to break down.   
“Tetsuro,” the man said. His voice was soft and low. Kuroo looked up to meet his dad’s eyes. There was kindness and sympathy there.  
“I know,” Kuroo said. He felt ashamed. “I should move on.”  
“That’s not what I said,” his dad insisted. “You’re stronger than you need to be, son.”  
“What do you mean?” The younger man felt a pang in his heart.  
“You moved back home; you faced your past.” His dad laced his fingers. His eyes had grown stern, his brows furrowed. “You didn’t have to do those things, so why did you?”  
Hope. I just wanted to see him. I wanted to be near him. “Dad,” he began. He felt the swelling heat rising in his throat – the inevitable burn in the corners of his eyes. “It hurt.”  
“To see him?” the older man asked, and his son nodded in response. He stood then, and Kuroo followed suit. Kuroo wasn’t sure who moved first, but the man wrapped arms around his son. “I’m proud of you. You’re a good man.”  
“Thanks, pop,” Kuroo said, kissing the side of the man’s head.   
“I’m gonna get some sleep now that I know you’re back home. You should do the same.” The man trudged up the stairs and Kuroo shut off the lights before he followed and shuffled toward his old bedroom. His steps were slow and calculated, like he feared where his thoughts would take him once he was alone in his bed.  
Kuroo turned on the side lamp as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. His eyes were on his dresser when a memory struck him square in the chest. He felt the urge like a weight; and before he could be bothered to think it through, the man pushed the tall chest of drawers to one side, trying not to scratch the floorboards. When it was out of the way, Kuroo sat on the floor and ran his fingers over the etchings on the base molding. He and Kenma had carved their names into the wood. Kuroo & Kenma friends forever. When had that promise stopped being true? His nose and eyes stung as he tried desperately to hold back tears. Even on his own, Kuroo didn’t want to cry. He was afraid that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  
He pulled out his phone and texted Akaashi: You left in a hurry.  
When he saw it, Kuroo knew that his friend’s response wasn’t the whole truth: Sorry, I wasn’t feeling good. If he wasn’t feeling good, it was because he’d made himself sick thinking about the dread of seeing Bokuto.  
Kuroo: You sure? He would have been happy to help his friend through his pain if he had just asked for support.  
Akaashi: I’ve been staying up late for work. I think it caught up with me.   
Kuroo: I won’t push you. If you want to talk, you know where to find me. He shoved his phone back into his pocket as he stood from the floor and moved the dresser back into place. When he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Kuroo imagined Kenma with Hinata’s small hands on him, touching him and loving him. The man wanted to turn the image off, erase it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t. Now that he’d seen them together, and felt the weight of reality, his thoughts were dragged down with worry and sadness. He thought to text Akaashi again and tell him he understood. But he had a feeling that went without say – the other man likely already knew.


	4. Part 1 - Akaashi

SIX YEARS AGO  
It was senior year and Akaashi was pushing himself harder than ever. He tried not to imagine the distant voice of Bokuto telling him to slow down and take a break. The boy let out an exasperated sigh. Forget him, Keiji, he reminded himself. But that was easier said than done; Bokuto was not a person that could be easily forgotten.   
The high schooler tried desperately to re-focus his attention on the books spread across the table in front of him. He was sitting in an otherwise empty corner of the nearest coffee shop first thing on a Saturday morning. Tiny particles of dust floated in the freshly sunlit lobby. The sunshine was warm against the dark-haired boy’s back. Inadvertently, he found himself continuing to peer at the vacant seat across from him. Bokuto used to come here with him and pretend to study, but Akaashi never really knew what he spent all that time thinking about. No matter how long his friend spent with his nose in his books, the older boy never complained. But Akaashi couldn’t afford to get lost in the past now; he needed to work harder and study more. He needed to focus on securing more scholarships and think of the future.  
Yet… he couldn’t help but miss the way things had been before Bokuto went away; before Akaashi had told him to leave. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t wonder about Bokuto constantly – avoid going places that reminded him of the older boy and then inevitably give in and go to those places anyway because he wanted to drown in all he had left, memories. After Bokuto went to school; Akaashi had voluntarily removed himself from the group text between he, Bokuto, Kuroo, and Tsukishima. He’d blocked Bokuto’s phone number and email address; and made sure his social media presence was small and secretive. Akaashi had essentially cut himself off to prevent any inevitable hurt. And now he was… what? Overworking himself in order to replace one pain with another?  
Akaashi took a sip of coffee when the bell above the door chimed. The thing that prompted him to look up from his books was the sound of a familiar laugh that flooded the shop. It was only in an effort to match a face with the voice, yet he was still surprised to see that the laugh belonged to Hinata. What is he doing in Tokyo? The younger boy was with someone, but it was hard to see. Whoever it was, Hinata’s arm was wrapped around their waist and shoved into one of their oversized hoodie pockets. The thought of baggy clothes brought the idea of a person to mind, but Akaashi didn’t think that was possible. He already knew, already realized, who was swimming inside the massive hoodie; but his chest seized up with anticipation, nonetheless. It was only when the figure’s hood fell and Akaashi saw the familiar blonde hair that something inside him began to crack and ache. He was trying so hard to will the idea away, but then Hinata was kissing Kenma’s cheek and Kenma’s hands were in the smaller boy’s hair. They were attached at the hip. Akaashi couldn’t unsee their touching and Hinata’s kisses and smiles, but in that moment, it was all he wanted to just leave the coffee shop and forget.  
The lone boy watched from his table as the pair ordered. Hinata’s head was on Kenma’s shoulder as they waited; Kenma was pulling the redhead into him. Akaashi was watching so intently, chewing his lip with worry, that he forgot to think he might be spotted by the pair until it was too late.  
Unfortunately for Kenma it was Hinata who met Akaashi’s eyes. He was likely unsuspecting – he looked innocent enough. The younger boy’s smile widened, and he waved with his free hand, his other hand tangled in Kenma’s. When the latter turned and saw where his companion was looking, he immediately pushed his hood back up, but it was no use. So… you didn’t want to be caught, Akaashi thought. Hinata dragged Kenma over to the table once they had retrieved their order, fingers laced for the world to see. It was hard for Akaashi to focus anywhere else but on their hands – in his eyes, this was something that meant: we are more than friends.  
“Hi, Akaashi!” Hinata smiled enthusiastically. His cheeks were wide with elation. The latter feigned a blissful smile.  
“I’m surprised to see you so far from home, Hinata,” Akaashi said.  
“Well, we didn’t have practice this weekend, so I came to stay with Kenma.” He looked over at the blonde before kissing him on the cheek. He didn’t know their romance was supposed to be a secret. It made Akaashi flinch because he was clearly the only one of the three thinking of Kuroo. Kenma couldn’t be bothered to meet Akaashi’s gaze. The whole thing was bringing a bitter taste to Akaashi’s tongue. “We shouldn’t bother him if he’s busy studying,” Hinata said to Kenma. The other boy looked relieved at the suggestion.  
“I’m… gonna go to the bathroom,” Kenma said suddenly. “Meet me outside?”  
“Okay,” Hinata grinned unsuspectingly, taking the other boy’s coffee and stepping through the front door back into the sunshine and soft breeze. Kenma didn’t move toward the bathroom. Instead, he sat in the vacant chair across from his friend – the one reserved for Bokuto. “Akaashi,” he started. He sounded unsure.  
“You and Hinata, huh?” the dark-haired boy asked. Was the anger he was feeling his own? Or was it on behalf of Kuroo?  
“We just started… dating.” Even sitting, Kenma was shifting his feet and fidgeting with his long sleeves. Akaashi knew all about he and Kuroo, and Kenma knew that which must have been why he was so clearly uncomfortable. It was the very reason Akaashi felt justified in asking, “how did Kuroo take it?” The silence assured him that Kenma hadn’t breathed so much as a word to his supposed best friend.  
“He loves you; you know.” It was all he could think to say. He was projecting a lot of his own hurt and shame onto the situation; but he was also speaking for Kuroo. “And he thinks you love him too, Kenma.”  
“I do love him,” Kenma said insistently. As if that lie would somehow unravel the mess he’d gotten himself into.   
“Don’t think Kuroo will see it that way.” Akaashi grimaced.   
“He’ll find someone else,” Kenma said. Who was he trying to convince? “I gotta go, we’ll talk later.” Hinata had just poked his head back inside the shop when Kenma walked toward the door to meet him. So, the task had just been left to Akaashi then? It would be his responsibility to break Kuroo’s heart?  
He didn’t have it in him to study anymore – Akaashi grabbed his books and crammed them into his bag. The rest of the morning would likely be spent thinking of what to say to Kuroo. But the morning quickly drifted into afternoon, quickly drifted into evening. And it went that way until the sun set and Akaashi was chewing nervously at his fingers. I have to call him. I have to tell him the truth, he thought as he began to dial.  
Did Akaashi even want Kuroo to pick up the phone? Ring after ring after ring and his heartbeats had suddenly synced up with the sound. The voicemail recording recited itself into Akaashi’s ear, but he didn’t wait for it to finish. He disconnected and immediately dialed again. It was a Saturday night after all, and he doubted Kuroo was just sitting around his dorm room waiting for a high school friend to call. His heart was beating furiously, thudding louder with each passing ring. Come on, Kuroo, he thought. If he had to know, Akaashi wanted his friend to hear it come from a good place – a place with no ill intent. Kenma certainly wasn’t going to say it, that much Akaashi knew. Voicemail again. Once more, Akaashi didn’t wait for the recording to stop, he disconnected and dialed again.  
This time Kuroo answered. “Akaashi?” he sounded lost and a little surprised. There was a musical echo in the background.  
“Are you out?” Akaashi asked. His heart hurt for his friend – the other boy sounded content, maybe even happy. He was probably riding an emotional high. In his mind he still had a boy waiting for him to come home. When had Kuroo and Kenma last talked? Had the latter even thought to mention that he and Hinata had been spending more time together? That they had started dating?  
“Yeah, I’m at this party,” Kuroo nearly yelled into the phone. “Can I call you later?”  
“No!” Akaashi didn’t mean to yell back, but he was afraid Kuroo would hang up before Akaashi could work up the nerve to speak up. “Sorry, sorry – it’s just… I need to talk to you.” The silence meant that Kuroo was beginning to understand the severity.  
“I’ll go out into the hall,” he said, and the moments of silence that ensued seemed to go on forever. “Okay, I’m alone. What’s up?”  
“Kuroo.” His friend’s name was shaky as it left the younger boy’s lips. I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to break you. But I have to. I have to. It has to be now. “Kuroo… have you talked to Kenma lately?”  
“What do you mean?” Kuroo sounded petrified now, like his throat had completely dried out. “Keiji,” he said in a tone that devastated Akaashi. “Is Kenma okay?”  
“He’s… he’s fine,” Akaashi insisted. Did he sound convincing? How could he even answer Kuroo’s question? “He’s okay,” the former said again to reassure Kuroo’s nerves before he shattered them entirely. “Have you talked to him though?”  
“Last week for a bit. I think he’s been busy with school.” Kuroo was so unsuspecting and that hurt Akaashi even more. “Why?”  
There was the question the younger boy had been anticipating, had been waiting for. He didn’t want to say it – really didn’t want to have to be the one to do this when Kuroo was so far away, living a life Akaashi wanted for him. Clearly Kuroo didn’t know or suspect anything. Clearly Kenma hadn’t told him anything. “Kenma is dating Hinata,” he finally said, the words an even heavier burden now that they had left his mouth and fallen into his hands. They’d left a terrible aftertaste.   
Mumbles reverberated in the background and suddenly Kuroo spoke again. “Sorry, someone was talking to me. Did you say something else?”  
Akaashi’s heart was devastated. He would have to spit the truth again then. It felt like he was watching his own love crumble all over again. Kuroo had been there for him then and every day since. “Kuroo, you know we’re friends right?”  
“Of course, Keiji,” the older boy chuckled, albeit nervously. “What’s all this?”  
The boy took another deep breath. “And I want to protect you. I’ll stay on the phone with you as long as you need. Where are you? Are you still alone?”  
“In the hall, on the floor.” He sounded nervous and exasperated. “Say it. Say what you’re gonna say.”  
I don’t want to break your heart. “Kenma is dating Hinata.”


	5. Part 1 - Kuroo

SIX YEARS AGO  
Did he want Akaashi to repeat himself? Was it possible that Kuroo had heard wrong? After all, Kenma hadn’t mentioned Hinata at all during their last phone conversation. The older boy tried to think back, tried to register any memories from the call during which his friend had seemed particularly distant or quiet. “Kuroo?” Akaashi’s voice brought the boy back to the present. “Are you still there?”  
A shaky breath slipped out of him. “I’m here,” he said. His voice felt heavy, his words weighted by sadness and loss. Just moments before he’d been sitting in an empty hall, on the phone with a friend that felt far away and somehow close all the same. But now… his heart was broken. The emptiness wasn’t just surrounding him anymore; it was inside of him. Was his damaged heart still beating inside his chest? Could heart fragments still pump the way they were supposed to when a heart was whole? Was he still breathing? Was the world still turning and carrying him with it? “Keiji.” He used his friend’s name as an anchor to stop himself from spinning. It slipped out of him with more desperation than he’d intended. All of the sudden, Kuroo felt like a kid again; not a college freshman who’d been, up until recently, enjoying freedom and the feeling of growing up – moving toward adulthood. Just moments before he’d been drinking and thinking of calling Kenma to tell him he was beautiful and missed and god, Kuroo wanted to run his fingers through the boy’s hair and kiss him forever.  
“I’ll stay on the phone,” Akaashi offered, breaking through the silence of heartache. Kuroo believed his friend, trusted him. Akaashi would never lie, never intentionally hurt the older boy. The latter leaned his head back against the cool wall and tried to inhale but it felt like he was drowning, gulping water in place of air. “I can get on a train right now and be there in a few hours.” Did Akaashi mean that? Would he really go so far out of his way? “Kuroo. I’ll be there.” He knew he should say no – knew he was expecting too much. Yet he surprised even himself when he asked, “really? You would do that?”  
“Of course.” Why did Akaashi sound so dejected? Why was his voice so broken and cracked? It was like he was mirroring Kuroo’s sadness. “I’ll be there soon… okay?” Why did he sound like he was the one who was sorry? As if he had anything to be sorry about.  
“Okay,” Kuroo said as his voice reached a near-whimper. When he hung up the phone, he began to cry. He surprised even himself with his tears. Strong, lively, bold Kuroo… was broken. Suddenly the night felt like it was over. He was ready to go back to his dorm room. The party scene wasn’t a place for him.  
There was a cool breeze blowing through the trees as Kuroo walked. The stars kept him company as he went. Occasionally he caught himself gazing up and wondering if Akaashi was really on his way. He felt guilty, like he was asking too much of his friend. It wasn’t fair that he should be hurting in such a way when the younger boy was also struggling. Kuroo wondered if his loss reminded Akaashi of his own. It suddenly dawned on him that there was someone he hadn’t talked to and needed to call. Kuroo pulled his phone from his pocket and began fingering through the contacts. He held the phone to his ear and waited with patient eagerness. “Hey-hey-hey!” The greeting nearly made him smile; the words that ran together like they were one.  
“Hey! Bro-kuto!” Kuroo tried to sound light-hearted and care-free, but his friend knew him well. He couldn’t hide out in the open like this.  
“What’s wrong?” Bokuto asked. His voice was drenched with concern.  
“It’s just…” he began, a lump in his throat. “Kenma...” Kuroo was having trouble saying the words. After all, this would be the first time he’d admitted the truth out loud. “Kenma is dating Hinata.” The words hurt coming out. It wouldn’t be right to tell Bokuto where he’d heard the news. That would open an entirely different can of worms. There was a drawn-out silence on the other line, something that made Kuroo uneasy. “Bo?” Was his friend still waiting on the other side of the silence?  
“Yeah?” Bokuto asked. His tone sounded different to Kuroo. Something about it made the dark-haired boy feel unsettled and insecure. When the realization suddenly dawned, it hurt worse than the initial sting of finding out Kenma had moved on without him.  
Kuroo’s hurt caught in his throat for a long moment. His heart was caged by insecurity. Hinata had taken, not one, but two people from him. “You knew,” he said in a shattered voice. Reality left him feeling abandoned.  
“Kuroo, I swore to stay quiet,” Bokuto confessed. “Hinata trusted me.”  
“I didn’t realize you two were so close.” Kuroo felt the bite in his own tone. It wasn’t simply a statement; it was an accusation. Another drawn moment of silence followed before either boy spoke again. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”  
“I hoped Kenma would tell you,” Bokuto said, as if that justified his decision to stay quiet. He sounded sad. As far as Kuroo was concerned, his friend had no right to sound so miserable. The hurt bottled inside of Kuroo was turning over and over, spinning and winding its way to rage and burning anger – embarrassment its close companion. His heart had gone from shards to dust.  
“You hoped,” was all Kuroo could manage to say. And in his hurt, he did something he had sworn never to do, especially to a friend: he pulled the knife from his own heart and directed it at Bokuto. “Do you know how I found out?” he asked. There was a hard edge to his pointed words and Bokuto’s silence suggested he felt those edges closing in on him. “Keiji.” The silence that fell was miserable and heavy, but Kuroo had yet to do any real damage. It didn’t bother him to let Bokuto know that Akaashi spoke to him when he disregarded and even went to great lengths to ignore his old teammate, without any real explanation as far as Bokuto was concerned. There was inevitably more hurt to pile on. “And guess what, Bo?” The nickname suddenly tasted sour in Kuroo’s mouth. He didn’t really plan to give his friend any time to respond or react – the silence would give him time to wonder and panic. Kuroo, stop… he begged himself. He should stop, he should want to stop before another friendship was ruined. “He’s on his way to see me now.”  
“Akaashi?” The hurt in Bokuto’s voice brought new tears to Kuroo’s eyes. He already felt the weight of regret. This was not the person he wanted to be. He didn’t want to rain devastation down on his best friend. “Kuroo… you know how I feel about him.”  
Fresh anger overpowered the hurt. He was speaking from a place of pure devastation. “It hurts to lose someone you love, doesn’t it?” It was hard to know who hung up first, who hurt worse. Within hours, Kuroo had lost the person he loved most, and one of his very best friends. He sunk into himself as he walked on, feeling like he could collapse under the weight of his own grief at any moment. When he made it back to his building, Kuroo waited downstairs on the sidewalk with his phone in between trembling fingers.


	6. Part 1 - Akaashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around so far! I can't express how grateful I am for anyone who has given my fic a chance! :)

PRESENT  
It felt less like a headache and more like the remnants of a hangover. Akaashi had promised himself he wouldn’t let thoughts of the wedding linger past the weekend, but here he was, playing back the image of Bokuto laughing like a phantom reel stalled on the same scene. In his dreams, he was braver and stronger – he could confront Bokuto and tell him the truth. In his dreams he never ran away.   
The fact that the work week had arrived was a relief. Akaashi had tucked his Fukurodani jersey back into his closest, the memories in a heap underneath. It was true that he should throw it away, but every time he considered it, something stopped him.  
It was a gray morning that looked on the verge of rain. The dark-haired man packed an umbrella just in case. As he walked down the staircase of his building, he read over interview questions for a meeting that was still days away. He was always preparing, always planning, always running from his thoughts. When had his life become so monotonous? It felt like the gray sky would never lift. Akaashi caught a glimpse of his reflection in his car window. The circles under his eyes seemed especially dark, while the rest of his face was pale, as if he were sickly – a ghostly version of himself. He was a man stuck in the past and yet somehow drowning in the present.  
His cubicle was already immaculate. Akaashi fidgeted with papers and rustled files just to keep his hands busy. He dreaded the thought of anyone walking past seeing him organizing his paperclips by color, but it was a task he’d considered. By the time he began to sink into the overwhelming, musty smell of the office, a ding brought the computer screen to life. He looked up. It was a message from his boss, just two words: my office. Was he in trouble? Did someone accuse him of looking especially miserable? Had his editing work from earlier in the month come across as half-hearted?  
Knuckles rapped at the frosted glass door of his boss’ office. “Come in!” the voice from within thundered. “Akaashi!” the man jeered. He was smiling – not a rare sight, but not a frequent one either. It was a good sign if nothing else. Akaashi shut the door behind him. “New assignment for you!” He threw a single manilla folder down on the desk. Akaashi sat in a vacant chair across from the hefty man. Once the folder was open, he couldn’t go back. His heart threatened to burst.  
“What is this?” Akaashi wondered if there was fear in his voice. Was this a nightmare? He wanted, begged himself to wake up. “Koutarou Bokuto is taking his team to nationals. His first year as head coach and they’re undefeated.” That last word somehow felt like a jab. “We’ve been trying to get an interview for months and he finally agreed.”  
Akaashi knew his boss wasn’t toying with him intentionally, but it didn’t stop his stomach from twisting in on itself. He felt hot and cold all at once. “I don’t understand,” he chirped. “Anyone could take this piece. I’m no sportswriter.”  
“Listen, kid.” The large man was resting his knotted fingers on the desk. His eyes were serious, his mouth a pin-straight line. “I have plenty of people I would put on this story, but he wants you. It’s the only interview he agreed to. Said you had a history. Didn’t know what that meant.” It felt like he was asking.  
“Yeah…” Akaashi scratched at his neck. “We played together in high school.”  
The man behind the desk laughed low and deep. “You constantly surprise me, kid. Turns out you’re the perfect man for the job.”  
“Sir...” how could he tell the truth? What was there to tell? Thanks for the high-profile story, but I’m in love with Koutarou and I can’t face him because I know he doesn’t feel the same? “He and I aren’t exactly… I don’t know if I can…” he was at a loss for words. “I’m sorry. I can’t take the assignment.”  
“I respect you, Akaashi.” His tone had changed – it was softer like he was trying to get on the younger man’s level. “You’re a damn good writer. But this is a story we can’t lose. We have an exclusive interview with the top high school coach in Japan.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This one time… I’m not asking you if you’ll take the assignment, I’m telling.” Akaashi felt frozen beneath the weight of his boss’ authority. “Go watch them play and you can take the rest of the day. Get a feel for the team. Schedule time with Bokuto.”  
“Sir, I–” Akaashi felt like his doubt was caught in his throat.  
“I hate to do this to you, kid,” the older man said curtly. “Go to their practice or turn in your badge. Your choice.”  
He was cornered and that feeling followed him back to his cubicle. Bokuto wanted Akaashi to interview him… Why? Was he taunting his old teammate? Trying to lure him back into an argument about the past? Akaashi grabbed his bag, shoving the manilla folder his boss had given him inside, and walked down the aisle toward the hall. He texted Kuroo as he walked: call me. The phone rang within seconds. Kuroo wasn’t granted anytime to speak. “He’s taunting me.” Akaashi was shaking with fear and rage – dread and sadness.   
“Happy to chime in,” Kuroo said. “Who are we talking about?”  
“Kou.” Akaashi said his name as if he was releasing a breath.  
There was a pause before Kuroo replied in a tone draped by confusion. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”  
“The magazine wants to run a feature on his team. He only agreed to an interview if it was with me.” Should he have turned in his badge to avoid one meeting?  
“Keiji, isn’t this a good thing? Sounds like he wants to talk to you.” There was sympathy in Kuroo’s voice. “Right?”  
“I’m not ready, Kuroo…” Akaashi felt like he might cry. “I’m afraid to hear about how great his life is now that I’m not in it.”  
“Do you really think that’s what he’ll say?” Kuroo’s voice was soft and distant.  
Akaashi started his car, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear. “I don’t know what to do if he smiles. It’ll kill me.”  
“You could always try smiling back. Do you want me to come with?” Kuroo offered. “I can take a long lunch.”  
“It’s okay,” Akaashi insisted although he wasn’t feeling all that confident. “I better go alone. Aiming for discreet.”  
“Akaashi?” Kuroo’s voice was suddenly laced with something the younger man didn’t recognize. “Call me if you need me.”  
The call disconnected. Memories flashed through Akaashi’s mind as he drove toward the school address that was written in the assignment folder. When he pulled into the parking lot, he was relieved that it was nearly empty. He refused to wonder which car was Bokuto’s, refused to wonder if the man that was once his best friend had changed… if he had someone he loved and if so, would he tell Akaashi about them? Why had he insisted that Akaashi be the one to interview him? His spinning thoughts were tormenting.  
The journalist crept quietly down the hall of the school. He heard dropping volleyballs and shoes sliding against slick floors before he spotted the gym. Akaashi slipped in through a side door, hoping to go unnoticed. The best seat he could find was in the bleachers behind Bokuto’s line of vision – from here he could just observe. A soft and sudden “hey,” hit his ears as he began to settle. He nearly whipped his head to one side to find Kenma.  
“What are you doing here?” Akaashi asked. If his voice sounded cold, it was because of the tension bundled in his chest. Not that Kenma didn’t deserve coldness as far as the dark-haired man was concerned.  
“I could ask you the same thing,” Kenma retorted. There were traces of a sneer playing on his lips. He was holding a game console in front of him, his eyes focused on the tiny screen. It was better if he focused on the game – that way he wouldn’t see Akaashi’s nervous eyes and trembling fingers.  
“Assignment,” he said. “My magazine is running a feature on the team. I’m here to watch practice.” If his boss hadn’t pressed him into a corner, Akaashi would already be sprinting toward his car.  
Kenma raised a brow like he didn’t believe the other man at all. “Hinata is the assistant coach. Sometimes I tag along.” His eyes were still focused on the screen.  
“Such a devoted boyfriend.” If Kenma picked up on the hard edge in Akaashi’s voice, he didn’t comment.  
“How’s Kuroo?” The question was surprising to say the least. “I heard you guys are close.” Was that an accusation in his voice? What was he driving at?  
“Heard from who?” Akaashi didn’t feel like playing the blonde’s game.  
“Bokuto.” The dark-haired man didn’t know why, but that stung.  
“I trust him, and he trusts me.” That was Akaashi’s answer. He wanted to see how Kenma would respond if the answer to his question had a tail that led into a river of wondering.  
“Is he happy?” the next question was an unexpected one.  
Akaashi didn’t want to answer anymore of Kenma’s questions – they were exhausting. “If you care so much, ask him yourself.” He knew that the smaller man wouldn’t take the advice he’d been handed, but Akaashi couldn’t help but wish he would.  
He was so focused on Kenma and their unexpected conversation that it completely caught him off guard when, without looking up from his game, the blonde said, “Bokuto’s coming over here.”  
Akaashi’s gaze moved toward the court. Kenma was right: Hinata was waving emphatically and Bokuto was walking toward the bleachers, toward Akaashi. His eyes whipped into focus so fast that he found himself swimming in Bokuto’s focused gaze. He nearly lost his breath. He could see how much the older man had grown up. His face was more defined, his golden eyes warm and glistening, his muscles taut. Akaashi suddenly found himself imagining those arms wrapped around him and his heart began to sing with hope and anticipation. But then he remembered why he was here and how much time had passed… and how endlessly he loved Bokuto.


	7. Part 1 - Bokuto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting next week I'm going to try to be more consistent with posting times! I'm aiming to post by 7 every Friday! :)

Akaashi. There he was, like a vision in the distance. If Bokuto reached out to touch him, would he fade away? The younger man looked just like the older always imagined; and all the same, he was immensely more beautiful. But the man could see the expression on his old friend’s face: dread. He didn’t want to be there. It was hard for Bokuto not to swaddle himself in guilt. Had it been unfair of him to make demands? Had he urged fate to bend for him? Was it selfish to turn down every attempt at an interview and then insist that the exclusive go to Akaashi? He’d convinced himself it was all for his old friend’s sake; to help his career. Ever since he’d spoken with Akaashi’s boss he told himself that it was entirely for the younger man, but was that really true? Hadn’t he grown desperate to repair his relationship with Akaashi? Desperate to know why their friendship had been severed? Was any of it for the younger man at all? Or was it all for Bokuto? Was his selfishness the reason Akaashi hated him? There were so many questions without answers. They’d followed him through college and into adulthood. And facing his past only brought all those questions rushing to the surface again.  
Several magazines and newspapers wanted to be the first to interview Bokuto – the high school-prodigy turned successful coach. What he lacked in brains, he made up for in brawn and disciplined strength. But in the face of his past, he was weak. All the things that had become important because of his successes suddenly didn’t matter. Here Akaashi was again after so long; and yet he still felt so far away, as if the years that had passed spread themselves on the floor between where Bokuto stood and the bleachers were Akaashi sat. Bokuto wished he could reach through the quiet stillness and pull Akaashi out. “You’re here,” Bokuto smiled as he approached. The other man’s returned smile didn’t seem the least bit authentic. It made the older man’s stomach churn. Had he made the wrong decision after all? He wondered again if he had forced his hand.  
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” Akaashi’s voice wasn’t cold, but tired. There was pain in his expression as his face fell toward his hands. Bokuto felt that pain like a weight against his chest.  
“I’m gonna go by Sho,” Kenma suddenly interjected, walking away with his eyes still glued to his game.  
Bokuto’s gaze moved back toward Akaashi. “Hinata can handle practice. Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” Despite everything that had happened, everything that he didn’t understand, Bokuto was desperate to reach out and hang on tight. He felt weak in the knees. If he collapsed, would Akaashi move to catch him?  
The latter scratched nervously at his ear. “I don’t have my interview questions ready… honestly I just came to watch today.” He wasn’t feigning a smile anymore.  
Bokuto felt insecure. It wasn’t about the interview. Didn’t Akaashi realize that? He was happy to give it to his old friend, of course, but more than anything he just wanted to talk to him and be near him. Even though Akaashi wasn’t in love with him and had pushed him away before he left for college, things could be fixed, couldn’t they? He had never doubted that he was in love with his old friend and teammate, but that feeling was suddenly overwhelming. Despite the constant doubt, he’d remained hopeful that things could be repaired. Bokuto had dared to cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Akaashi could love him back. But his heart squeezed liked it was begging him to let go of distant dreams. Maybe there would come a day when he could accept that they didn’t share feelings. For now, the realization was that he missed his best friend. “Oh, uh… I was actually hoping we could just talk.” Every nerve in his body was on edge. He wanted hope, searched for it in the dark recesses of doubt.  
“Talk?” Akaashi’s lip twitched into a frown. “About what?”  
The younger man’s tone had turned undeniably cold. He crossed his arms. Bokuto felt his heartbeat waver. “I’m sorry…” he began. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just hoped we could catch up.” He felt like a kid again for the first time in years. “I’ll leave you to watch practice then. And for the record…” Akaashi looked up for what seemed like the first time. His eyes were haunted. Did he really hate Bokuto that much? Was their relationship beyond repair? Despite everything, Bokuto had never anticipated what he would do if the road to unrequited love ended in him giving up, but wasn’t it time? “I’m sorry.” He turned his back and began to walk toward the court. Whatever he’d done to make Akaashi hate him, he was desperately sorry – he’d be sorry forever and ever until his heartbreak drove him to his knees.  
“Bokuto-san.” Hearing his own name reignited the fire in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing it. “Here’s my card. If you want to call and let me know when you have time for the interview.” The rejuvenated hope in the older man sank. Of course, the interview. He would give Akaashi his interview and then he would carry on like he wasn’t hopelessly in love.   
Still, he couldn’t help but get excited and unintentionally rushed ahead of his thoughts. “I’ll always make time for you, Akaashi.” He tried to backtrack when the silence carried. “I’m sorry… I’ll call you.” And he watched Akaashi leave again. Just like in the past, he didn't know how to make time stand still. He didn't know how to undo his mistakes and bring his love back to him.


	8. Part 1 - Akaashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone waiting for me to post! I know I posted much later today than I usually do! Thanks for reading :)

If he had been nicer to Bokuto, if he had only agreed to go along and talk to the other man like he’d asked. If Akaashi had done that, would he have ended the night feeling so dejected? Instead, he’d run away when his emotions got the best of him, just like the night of Tanaka and Kiyoko’s wedding.   
Why had his old friend’s kindness surprised him? Wasn’t Bokuto supposed to hate him? And why did Akaashi want Bokuto to wish ill on him? Was it because he blamed himself for everything that had gone wrong between them? Maybe Akaashi wanted Bokuto to blame him too. He knew he deserved that much.  
There were two new messages on his phone when Akaashi arrived at his desk the next morning. Had Bokuto called so quickly? The thought made the younger man’s stomach twist and his heart thump furiously. He played the first message back as he began to unpack. “Hi, Akaashi.” The man dropped into his seat. Hearing Bokuto say his name… he hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed. The edges of his mouth pinched into a frown. “Sorry to bother you so soon… Um. Oh, it’s Bokuto.” Akaashi felt nostalgic. His old friend still had that same, goofy forgetfulness – his words and thoughts always so out of order. “If you want to come back tomorrow and watch practice… I promise not to pressure you. Please come.” He’d left the message the previous day – the time indicated it was before Akaashi had even made it home from the school. He wanted to go and at least offer an apology. It was evident by the sound of his voice in the message – Bokuto felt just as insecure as he felt.  
“Akaashi.” There was that voice again as he played the next recording, breaking the man down with the use of his own name. He hadn’t expected a second message from Bokuto. “It’s me again. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.” Akaashi heard the pinch in his voice at the last sorry. There was a long pause where all the unspoken words wrestled and lost to the silence. “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.” Akaashi held back tears.  
It was the regret in Bokuto’s voice that drove the dark-haired man back to volleyball practice that afternoon. When he arrived, his nerves nearly held him in his car. Would Bokuto be relieved to see him? Apologies should have been Akaashi’s offering, not the other way around. He found the gym with more ease the second time around. The man made a home on the bottom row of the bleachers near the far side of the gym, dropping his bag from his shoulder as he sat. When he pulled out his notebook and steadied his pen, Akaashi’s eyes found Hinata at the side of the net… and Bokuto. He was radiant, glowing as he stood with a hand on his hip. The team was slowly filtering into the gym. For the first time, Akaashi noticed the pretty girl standing with the pair. Her hand moved to Bokuto’s bicep. She was blushing and he… he was smiling. The girl hugged Hinata and handed the taller man a slip of paper before she passed Akaashi on her way out. He watched her go, his stomach sinking. Hadn’t he said he wanted Bokuto to be happy? The girl was certainly beautiful, with kind eyes. Didn’t he deserve that: someone beautiful and kind?  
“Akaashi!” It was Hinata. He was waving frantically. The former put his hand up as a return gesture. Bokuto had a much-too-warm smile pointed in his direction. So why did it feel like the older man was looking right through him? He put a finger up to signal that he’d been with Akaashi momentarily. The latter reminded himself to get it together, to set his feelings aside – this was a work project, nothing more.   
Hinata took the opportunity to come over. “Where’s Kenma today?” Akaashi asked. He was trembling as he pictured the girl from before, imagined her over and over, blushing and touching Bokuto.  
“Probably sleeping,” Hinata chirped. “He had a late stream last night.”  
Akaashi had only asked as to not immediately jump down Hinata’s throat with the question consuming his thoughts. “So…” he fiddled with his pen, hands still shaking. “That girl…”  
“Oh! That’s my college friend! She’s super nice.” He grinned. Akaashi’s nerves began to settle. Keep it together, Keiji, he told himself. She’s just a friend. “I’m trying to set her up with Bokuto. I think they’d be really good together.” Akaashi squeezed his pen in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking.  
“Hinata!” Bokuto was waving his assistant coach over, and the latter swept across the gym without hesitance. Akaashi was left in an ocean of emotions – he felt like he was drowning; but he reminded himself that it would only be a matter of time before he could walk away from all of this. That was the lie he kept feeding himself as he forced his pen to move across the page. Each sentence started with volleyball terms and observations, but his ideas were starting to blur into physical representations of his fears: beautiful Bokuto and beautiful girl, he wrote. Stop loving him, Keiji, he penned. It wasn’t any of his business if his former friend was moving on; he knew that. He’d pushed the older man away after all. Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel jealous and defeated…  
“I’m glad you came,” Bokuto said on his way out. Akaashi knew now that Bokuto didn’t have any cruel intentions in inviting him back. But his intentions weren’t what the younger man wanted them to be either. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”  
“No,” Akaashi said. He looked up and offered a rare grin. His heart was shattered. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” He was sorry, sorry for everything; sorry for running away and staying hidden. “If you have time Saturday morning for the interview…”  
Bokuto’s eyes were warm; looking into them felt like home. “I’ll call you,” he smiled. The younger man felt the inevitable burn in his throat as he forced a head nod. He was out of words and he watched Bokuto walk away.  
A shudder of orange movement at the edge of Akaashi’s vision got him to his feet. He caught Hinata by the shoulder in the doorway. The younger man turned back and stared up into the eyes bearing down on him, expressing a seemingly innocent face. “Can we talk?” Akaashi asked. “I just need a minute.” He just needed to say his piece and then he’d commit to silence again.  
“Yeah, of course!” Hinata smiled. What’s going on?” He was so blissfully unaware. That oblivious carelessness hurt Akaashi even more.  
The truth was, he was trying to protect himself by turning his thoughts toward fury. Anger from years past had boiled up in him within moments. It wouldn’t have surprised him if steam were wafting out of his ears. Sure, he was mad for himself, but his anger for Kuroo had revived itself in him too. Akaashi was incredibly familiar with the hurt that his friend was carrying on his back – the weight that he bared as he came back home and pretended that he could face his past, face Kenma.   
Akaashi had listened to Kuroo cry, he’d seen and listened to his heart break over and over again, as if he were reliving that first night Akaashi had called him to break the news that Kenma was moving on without him. To be blindsided by the person you loved most… Akaashi knew better than anyone what that loss felt like – to lose someone to distance, and not just physical distance. Everything that Hinata had taken from Kuroo, he was now trying to take from Akaashi.  
There was a delay where the latter tried to allow things to be normal, just for a moment – where he wanted to feel some sense of peace before he allowed himself to become unhinged. “I need to know,” he began. “Why you were trying to set Bokuto up with your friend.” The words had come out too fast and his heart was throbbing with fury, and a pain that he couldn’t bear.  
The smaller man looked baffled by the question. “I – I just thought that he could use someone…” He looked like he wanted to say more or ask more.  
Anger was welling in Akaashi, boiling his blood. “And you decided that he needed to be with someone you chose?” It was an unfair question, and the man knew that. He was letting his personal feelings intercede. He was pinning Hinata to the wall with questions and accusations when Akaashi had already determined the man was guilty. He blamed himself, of course, but he wanted the man in front of him to pay the price.  
“N-no, not at all!” Hinata stuttered. He looked beyond lost. “I just thought…”  
“Haven’t you done enough?” His jealousy was boiling over, and it couldn’t be stopped. If Kuroo were here to hold him back… If Bokuto heard the things he was saying would he understand Akaashi’s feelings? Before Hinata could speak up for himself, the latter continued. “Do you know who was there to help Kuroo pick up his pieces when he was broken? No one! Do you even understand what you did to him? What you took away from him?” He was so filled with fury; his entire body was shaking with rage and intense sadness.  
“Akaashi, please,” Hinata began. “I don’t understand.” His frown was more evident than before. Mr. Happy-go-lucky was finally cracking under the intense weight of his own greatness. Akaashi wanted to scream everything into perfect alignment – the whole universe felt like it was collapsing because of Hinata’s selfish carelessness.  
“Kenma never told you?” Akaashi asked. He was exposing everyone’s feelings all at once, not just his own. “The night before Kuroo left for college, he and Kenma confessed their love for each other.” Hinata’s eyes went wide. So, he really didn’t know, Akaashi thought. Well, he was glad to be the one to break the news – he’d had enough of the younger man. He stood, taking steps forward as Hinata backed away under the intense glare of someone that he’d always assumed had been his friend and suddenly wasn’t. The man before him was not the person he’d known since high school. “So… imagine with me, having to call Kuroo while he was on cloud nine, to tell him that Kenma had been swept off his feet by you.” There were tears of seething hatred in Akaashi’s eyes. “You ruined Kuroo’s life and now you’re trying to ruin mine. You just think everyone bows at your feet, don’t you?” He took several more steps forward like he was sizing up the smaller man.  
“I had no idea,” Hinata said. There were tears in his eyes too – Akaashi imagined it was because this was the first that he’d heard of Kenma’s confession to Kuroo. “I didn’t know about Kuroo. I didn’t know about you and Bokuto…”  
“I don’t care,” he replied curtly. “I’m telling you to butt out. Leave Bokuto alone. Don’t force him into your idealistic bubble.” And before anything more could be said, Akaashi ran toward the parking lot. He hoped he’d given the other man something to think about. But as he approached his car, his anger and hatred diminished into guilt and foolishness. By the time he was sitting in the driver’s seat, Akaashi was sobbing. He began to dial on his cell phone with intense urgency, hands trembling. Pick up, pick up, he begged. “Kuroo!” he cried into the phone before the other man could even say anything. The otherwise silence was filled with Akaashi’s wracked, heaving sobs.  
“Akaashi?” Kuroo questioned immediately. The concern was evident in his voice. He must have been able to hear the heartbreak in the way the other man was weeping. “Are you okay? Where are you?”  
“Please forgive me,” Akaashi sobbed. If he didn’t tell Kuroo the truth now, he would find out later from someone else. “I just wanted it to stop. I want Bokuto to be happy, but I can’t… Kuroo – I love him so much.” He stopped to try and catch his breath before he continued his pained train of thought. “I’m still in love with him and it hurts so much. I don’t know what to do anymore.”  
There was a long pause on the other line. It was the silence of sympathy and understanding. “I know you do. I know, Akaashi.”  
“I yelled at Hinata,” he admitted, still crying. Whether he was crying because he was hurting or because he ruined at least one friendship, Akaashi couldn’t tell. “I told him he stole Kenma from you and I… I was just so mad. Kuroo, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my place to do that – it wasn’t right of me, I know!” His tears were relentless, unending.  
Another pause on the line further prompted Akaashi’s concern. He was almost worried that the older man had hung up. When he finally spoke though, his voice was soft and almost sympathetic. “You didn’t have to do that for me, Keiji,” he finally said.  
You never stand up for yourself, Kuroo, he thought to himself. I owed you that much. “Yes, I did.” He had promised he’d go quietly, and in his selfishness and bitter jealousy, he just couldn’t.


	9. Part 1 - Kenma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to anyone who's been patiently waiting... I didn't realize that my chapter didn't post when I tried earlier tonight!

Kenma was home later than expected. His plan had been to sleep through the day following an overnight stream, and then have dinner with Shoyo once he was finished with practice. But the man had agreed to meet up with a potential channel sponsor last minute. What began as a brief meeting turned into dinner and, as a gesture of good will, he’d taken the men out for drinks. As he walked through the door of the apartment, loosening his tie, Kenma was caught off guard by the darkness and quiet. “Sho?” he called into the silence, but the quiet dark offered no response. His voice was already worn, and his body was aching from the lasting imprints of social anxiety. He’d spent too much of the afternoon around people and now he was undone. The one consolation was that he didn’t have another stream until the weekend. He was grateful for the popularity his channel was gaining, but the better his numbers, the more content he was expected to put out; and by extension, more sponsors wanted to be a part of the action. “Shoyo?” Kenma called again. It was late, sure, but still too early for the other man to be asleep.  
He found his boyfriend once he hit the bedroom light – the way sunshine can only be seen in the daytime. The younger man was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, and legs knotted underneath him. He was hugging a pillow close to his chest and his eyes would not meet Kenma’s. “Shoyo?” the latter asked again, hoping his boyfriend would finally acknowledge him. He didn’t seem to notice Kenma’s presence at all. The older man was already feeling so anxious and tired – this was too much. All he wanted to do was game. It was the only thing that sounded relaxing after a meeting; the only thing that was predictable and structured. The one similarity in his current circumstance was that, just like his games, the situation with Shoyo felt like a level he couldn’t overcome – his mind felt so distant and drifting ever further away.  
Despite his anxiety, Kenma urged himself to try and right the situation. He sat on the edge of the bed close to Shoyo and put a trembling hand on the man’s knee. The latter immediately pulled away, hugging the pillow even closer to his chest. “Please leave me alone,” Shoyo said in his most somber voice. Kenma still couldn’t see his boyfriend’s eyes, which was his only hope for even beginning to guess what was upsetting him. All he could think to do was lean forward and kiss the other man on the cheek, but before he could reach, Shoyo pulled away. “I said leave me alone, Kenma.”  
It was a challenge he couldn’t face. A level was always especially hard to win when there were no clues or tools to assure success. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he tried. In a game, when there were no obvious solutions, the best option was trial and error. His absence and late arrival home had to be the reason Shoyo was upset. And it was true that he should have called. Shoyo had probably been worried – it wasn’t like Kenma to go anywhere alone. “I had an unexpected meeting with a potential sponsor. I wasn’t expecting it to run so late. Sho – I’m so sorry.” This was the part where Shoyo would ordinarily forgive him, but when he finally lifted his head, it was not forgiveness shimmering in his eyes. Still, Kenma pressed on. “I’ll make it up to –”  
“Akaashi came to practice,” Shoyo interrupted. What was this new look in his eye? Kenma was squinting in an attempt to figure it out. Was this a puzzle game? A mystery expansion? Was there some particular question he was supposed to ask? Should he have understood why Akaashi would have stopped by? He had also been there the day before, after all. Kenma didn’t have enough information to make a decision, didn’t know enough to win the game. “He was really upset,” Shoyo continued. Kenma still wasn’t understanding why his boyfriend was hurt, or what Akaashi coming to practice had to do with him. “He was mad at me…” Shoyo finally met Kenma’s eyes. “He said I stole you from Kuroo.” An unsettling tingle began to run throughout Kenma’s entire body – not quite fear, but a discomfort that could easily blossom into fear. Shoyo’s gaze was glued on Kenma now, filled with something unreadable. There was the fear he’d anticipated, suddenly bursting in his chest and exacerbating his panic. He wondered: What exactly did Akaashi say?  
Suddenly the younger man stood, throwing the pillow aside as if he’d said enough and was preparing to leave the room. Kenma instinctually held his wrist. Shoyo’s back was to him, but he allowed himself to be held in place. “Tell me what he said to you,” Kenma begged. Could his boyfriend feel the way his fingers were trembling against his skin? Did he know that Kenma was coming unhinged? Did it even matter?  
Shoyo’s shoulders dropped as if he’d finally resigned himself to the conversation that had obviously been spinning around the room since Kenma had arrived home. “He said that you and Kuroo confessed to each other before he left for school.” Reality struck him in the chest like lightning. Hadn’t it been inevitable? Akaashi had made his hatred for Kenma known on more than one occasion. Had he finally sought revenge? Was Akaashi the final boss? It was the only explanation – why else had he shown up and demanded answers? It didn’t make sense. He was so busy running through ideas, dissecting scenarios, that he didn’t realize he was leaving the other man completely on the hook – waiting for closure and comfort before suddenly understanding why he couldn’t have either. “It’s true then,” Shoyo said. All of his sadness dripped from his tongue with those few words.  
Kenma couldn’t deny it. And it was obvious that Shoyo already knew it was true. “It was a long time ago,” he said as way of admittance. The feelings had lingered, followed him into his relationship with Shoyo, followed him every day and every night before relaxing into contentment. Kuroo was gone. He was gone the minute he got on the train. He was off to some greater destiny where he would find a forever with someone worthy of him. And in that same way, Kenma had moved on and found his own happiness, or so he thought. Seeing Kuroo at the wedding had been torture and now his only concern was why had all of this happened? Why had Akaashi accused Shoyo of stealing Kenma? Did that mean… did that mean Kuroo still loved him?  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” When Kuroo left, he was gone. That was what his parents had told him, his teammates, Shoyo… how many times had the younger man said that he hoped Kuroo would find a pretty girlfriend? He’d just wanted it all to go away. “Are you still in love with him, Kenma?” His question was understandable. It added drama to the plot. There should be a delayed answer on his end to heighten the player’s curiosity and attachment to the authenticity of the player characters.


	10. Part 1 - Bokuto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me this far! Hope everyone likes the new chapter! Tried to post a little earlier this week :)

The sun rose long after Bokuto on Saturday morning. His alarm was the last to join the party. He’d been completely unable to sleep. He was anxious and excited and longing, praying for only good things. When the man reached over to turn his phone alarm off, he realized it wasn’t the alarm at all. Kuroo was calling him. His number had never been deleted from Bokuto’s phone because, despite everything, he still considered him a friend. And he’d hoped for the day… this day – when Kuroo would call again. “Hello?” His quiet, broken voice wasn’t a result of lack of sleep; it was tangled nerves. He was both horrified and thrilled to be interviewed by Akaashi.  
“Hey… it’s Kuroo…” Of course, they’d talked at the wedding, but Bokuto had instigated. But now Kuroo was calling and it created a soft spot in the other man. Still, there was an unease about the dark-haired man’s voice. Bokuto’s second fear of the day sprung to life: What if Kuroo was calling to ask him to leave Akaashi alone? How close had they gotten over the years? How far away from the younger man’s thoughts had Bokuto drifted? “I know I don’t have the right to be asking for any favors…” Kuroo said. “But please, hear me out. Please…” It seemed like he had more to say and Bokuto had to wonder why his old friend was suddenly holding back. After all, he’d been the one to call. “Please take it easy on Akaashi… he’s having a hard time. I can’t ask you to forgive him, but I hope you’ll consider.”  
Bokuto wasn’t sure what that meant, or what there could possibly be to forgive. It was hard for him to come up with a response; he was still feeling pretty shocked by the whole call. “Kuroo, I…” What did he mean to say? How could he even begin to let Kuroo know just how sorry he was for everything that had happened? And only minutes before he’d accused the other man of having feelings for Akaashi… Sorry wasn’t enough.  
“Me too, buddy,” Kuroo said. There was no hesitation. Bokuto couldn’t help but smile in relief. “We can talk later, okay?”  
As Bokuto walked down the sidewalk nearly an hour later, he began to doubt; feel foolish even. Why had he suggested their old study spot as a place to meet? The truth was he hadn’t set foot in the coffee shop since he and Akaashi stopped talking. He began to think of those days where they would spend hours sitting in peaceful silence; Akaashi studying and Bokuto watching Akaashi – always so calm and beautiful, always a vision.  
The silver-haired man stepped inside the shop and placed his order at the counter before moving toward a seat. Not much about the shop had changed, including his favorite table in the corner where the large glass window met the wall. He sat facing the door just like in the past – leaving the seat bathed in sunlight open so Akaashi could glow.  
It wasn’t long before the younger man walked through the door. He wasn’t late, it was just that Bokuto had been early – he wanted to seem punctual. When Akaashi walked inside, Bokuto immediately felt the breath escape his lungs. The man was dressed in slacks, a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a slick leather bag hanging off his shoulder. He looked so grown up, but Bokuto knew that the boy he’d fallen in love with years before was still there. Just as Akaashi sat his bag down at the table, Bokuto’s order was called and he brought back two cups. He held one out for Akaashi just as the dark-haired man was pulling his wallet from his bag. “What’s this?” he asked. It looked like he was desperately trying to hide a smile.  
Bokuto swallowed the developing lump in his throat. “Hot vanilla latte with two extra shots of espresso.” It suddenly felt childish that he would try to impress Akaashi with such tiny details, memories of their past. “Extra whipped cream.” Sweet like you, he thought. The younger man’s brow furrowed, and he bit his lip, looking almost pained. Bokuto thought of what Kuroo had said about Akaashi having a hard time and deserving forgiveness. Didn’t he know there was nothing to forgive? Didn’t he know he could lean on Bokuto?  
“You remembered that, but couldn’t pass math class?” His tone was playful. It almost felt like old times and Bokuto’s heart began to flutter with hope.  
“You swore you’d never bring that up,” Bokuto pouted. It had been so long since he’d felt at home, he hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it.  
“All that studying we did; you still couldn’t pass.” The younger man was leaning his face into his palm, almost like his worries had vanished. It took everything in the older man not to confess right there and tell Akaashi that he hadn’t been studying in those days because he’d always been too busy watching the beautiful boy across the table. “Should we get started?” At the drop of Akaashi’s question, Bokuto’s smile fell – he’d almost forgotten they weren’t there to reminisce. Bokuto was squeezing his cup between his hands, looking down as he offered a somber nod. The other man rustled in his bag, pulling out a pen and notepad. He appeared to take a long, delayed breath before he looked up again. What was he thinking about? “If there are any questions you don’t want to answer, please let me know.” He seemed to be refusing Bokuto’s forward-set gaze. Why?   
Akaashi ran through the basic questions first and Bokuto answered them with ease. The older man watched the person he loved carefully – watched the eyes that occasionally peeked from beneath wavy tufts of hair.  
“You’re beautiful,” Bokuto said, not meaning to let the thought slip out. His face immediately went red with regret.  
“What was that, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked between scribbles on his notepad. He looked up with warm eyes and a soft face.  
“Nothing,” Bokuto said as he shook his head. “Sorry.” He was still trembling.  
“Next question.” Akaashi seemed different than days before when he’d come to practice. Was something bothering him? Did he have any idea what Bokuto was feeling, or what he wanted to say? “A lot of people were curious why you chose to coach high school volleyball when you had the chance to go pro.” Bokuto felt his heart squeeze. He looked up and tried to memorize the younger man’s face; the way he sipped his coffee and licked the whipped cream from his lips; how he nervously fiddled with his hands just like when they were kids. If Bokuto told the truth he might lose his old friend forever. “We can skip this question if you’d like,” Akaashi said. Wasn’t this what Bokuto had hoped for by having Akaashi interview him though: a chance to admit his feelings?  
“No, no – it’s fine,” Bokuto insisted. “I just… want to make sure I get this right.” The other man seemed to tilt his head in curiosity. “It’s a bit of a long story – sorry…” But Akaashi appeared patient and relaxed. Would he forgive Bokuto? He took a deep breath, and another. The truth was he would never forgive himself, never be able to move on in life, if he didn’t make his feelings known.  
“During my second year in the volleyball club, a group of first years joined.” At Bokuto’s words, Akaashi suddenly looked up from his writing. Their gazes met and an insecure silence hung in the balance. “One of them became my setter…” Why hadn’t he told Akaashi the truth back then? Would things have turned out differently? “We were always together. I didn’t go anywhere without him. He was my best friend and the best setter ever. I didn’t want to lose him.”  
Akaashi watched from under sad, hooded eyes. “Bokuto-san, you don’t have to –”  
“Please let me say what I need to say, Kaashi,” he begged. The other man flinched – was it the nickname? “If you want me to go after I finish my story, I’ll go…” Akaashi’s gaze softened and he nodded. It reminded the older man just how much, how deeply he loved his old friend. “He told me to go and I did even though I shouldn’t have. I thought if he didn’t want me around, I’d go… but I didn’t want another setter. I didn’t want another partner.” Bokuto frowned when he noticed the fresh tears in Akaashi’s eyes. It was devastating. “I never got the chance to tell him the truth.”  
Akaashi looked down at his clasped hands and then back up. He casually swiped at the tears in his eyes. “That was very wrong of him to push you away,” the younger man said, biting his lip. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was scared. He’s probably still scared.” Despite wiping his tears away, his eyes had sprung leaks and his cheeks were wet with sadness. “He was probably horrified because he thought you hated him.”  
“Kaashi.” Bokuto’s voice cracked. He nervously reached for Akaashi’s hand and when he took it in his, the other man didn’t pull away. “I could never, never hate you. I was afraid you hated me… and when you left the wedding, I thought –” His heart felt heavy.  
“Bokuto-san, I never hated you.” He wept into his free hand. “I –” Akaashi looked like he was trying to catch his breath. Bokuto gently squeezed the small hand in his. “I’m in love with you.”  
“Y-you are?” Bokuto asked. His heart was fluttering so hard. He reached forward with a free hand and wiped at Akaashi’s tears with the side of a finger. “I’ve always loved you.”  
Akaashi stood and out of fear that it might all be a dream that would slip through his shaking fingers, Bokuto stood as well. But Akaashi didn’t disappear – instead he fell against the older man’s chest. “I love you so much,” he cried. “Please forgive me.”  
Bokuto smoothed Akaashi’s hair and held him close, rocking with him. “There’s nothing to forgive.” His heart was hammering. He had never known such complete and utter happiness. “Stay with me, Kaashi – please stay.” The coffee shop was empty aside from two men who had fallen in love as boys, been torn apart by fear and doubt, and brought back together by devotion and desperate love.


End file.
